


(Never) Too Late To Change

by atamascolily



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: New Republic Era - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Force Visions, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jedi Training, M/M, Missing Scene, Self-Hatred, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unrequited Crush, failure - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 09:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15992252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atamascolily/pseuds/atamascolily
Summary: Sent as an Imperial spy to Luke Skywalker's Jedi Academy, Brakiss is surprised and confused by his growing sympathies for the Jedi Master. It's a good thing Skywalker doesn't have a clue... but the biggest dangers lie in Brakiss's own mind and heart.





	(Never) Too Late To Change

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @joysweeper for getting me thinking about Brakiss and all the tragic possibilities left unexplored in Legends canon.

_Luke had forgotten how stunning Brakiss was. Brakiss’s blue eyes pierced anything they looked at. His nose was straight, his skin flawless, and his lips thin. Leia had once called him one of the most handsome men she had ever seen._

_She was right...._

_... “I hate Skywalker,” Brakiss said.  
Kueller shook his head. “You don’t hate Skywalker. You hate the way he makes you feel."_

-Kristine Kathryn Rusch, _The New Rebellion_

 

"You look tired." Leia's holo-image flickered for a moment before restabilizing. Yavin IV was far enough way from Coruscant that the connection wasn't always reliable--and siting the communicator in the basement of the Great Temple, in what had once been the Rebellion's war room--didn't help. "Is everything going well at the Academy?" 

"Actually, it's been a relatively calm and uneventful week here," Luke Skywalker said to his sister. "But yes, I am tired." 

"Oh, watching over your pet Imperial spy is wearing you out?" 

Luke couldn't help a smile at his sister's sarcasm. "Brakiss is fine, thank you very much. The training has been good for him so far. He's softened quite a bit since he first arrived. It's a novel experience for him to have friends." 

"It probably doesn't hurt that he's so outrageously handsome," Leia said. "I'm sure he'll leave a trail of broken hearts all over the Academy before he's finished." 

"I don't think so," Luke countered, though privately he admitted she had a point about his student's attractiveness. "He's keeps to himself most of the time. I don't think he believes he deserves love, let alone from any 'Rebel traitor'." 

"I hope you know what you're doing, keeping a venomous yar-snake so close." 

"I can handle it. With patience and trust, he'll come around to our side eventually. He wants to so badly. He's just not sure it's safe yet." 

"That's all well and good, but what if it doesn't work?" Leia asked pointedly. 

Luke met her gaze evenly. "It did with Vader," he said. 

She shuddered. "Luke, not everyone is like Vader." 

He let it pass. There was no point in arguing with her on this. Her emotional reaction to Vader was still strong, even after all these years. 

"I'd rather have him where I can keep an eye on him," he said. "As long as Brakiss is here, the Empire won't try to send any more spies. And unlike the others they tried to foist on us, Brakiss actually has a strong talent for the Force." 

To their deep chagrin and embarassment, none of the would-be spies had managed more than an hour before being politely escorted off Yavin and into NRI hands. But Brakiss was different. Oh, Luke had seen through the man's cover the moment he stepped off the shuttle -- but there was power there, albeit warped and twisted by the abuse he'd suffered at the hands of the Empire and the acts he'd no doubt committed in its service. 

Despite this, Luke had chosen to take Brakiss on as a student. No matter what Leia said, there had been good in Vader, and there was good in Brakiss, too, even if it was buried deep underneath the trauma and indoctrination and the fervent belief in the righteousness of the Imperial cause. It was Luke's job to help him find his way back from that - to heal him, if he could. He had been careful to ensure that Brakiss never suspected that Luke knew the truth. 

He'd even allowed Brakiss the freedom to report to his Imperial superiors unmolested. What Brakiss didn't know what that Luke had also asked Ghent to intercept all of the messages he sent, so that NRI would be fully informed as to what information was disseminated - with the option to edit or remove anything they didn't want in Imperial hands. 

Three years later, Brakiss still hadn't caught on to the ruse, but he'd grown as a person under Luke's tutelage. There was still darkness inside him, but it was smaller, quieter, more muted than before. More and more, his enthusiasm was unfeigned, his delight genuine. He was so eager to please, so enthusiastic to learn. 

Sometimes, he even smiled. 

"He's come a long way. He's constructing a lightsaber now," Luke continued. "He'll make such a good Jedi Knight, Leia. You'll see." 

She pursed her lips, unable to relinquish her skepticism despite his assurances. "I hope you're right."

He hoped so, too. He'd lost too many students already, and every failure weighed on him. Some, like Gantoris, Nichos, and Cray, had died under his watch. A few, like Kyp Durron, had fallen to the Dark Side -- though Kyp at least had returned to the light in the end. Others, like Dolph and Dal Konur, had left before their training was complete, pursued by their own personal demons, unable to find rest or peace. 

He didn't want Brakiss to share their fate. 

***

Brakiss stared at the pieces of the lightsaber on the table in front of him, assessing how each part fit into the greater whole. He was tinkering with a new design, a different approach than the usual methods favored by Skywalker's Jedi students, and he wanted to make sure he had everything clear in his mind before he began the final assembly.

"Perfect," he said aloud when he was satisfied at last. He set to work, placing each piece just so with careful concentration, using the Force where necessary to hold each component in place. 

Skywalker was inordinately fond of meditation, but Brakiss found mechanical design and composition far more relaxing and engaging. He'd never had the opportunity on Msst to indulge in anything so frivolous as a hobby before. He was surprised and delighted to discover he had a talent for it. 

The kyber crystal used for focusing energy from the power cell was the most delicate part, especially since Brakiss had shaved it down to the barest sliver, all the better to refract at the new angle he'd set it in. It was inordinately difficult--if not impossible--to steady the crystal so that it would vibrate at appropriate frequencies to generate a working blade. It required a steady hand as well as a steady mind, and Brakiss was grateful for the endless hours of concentration practice he'd endured over the last three years to make it to this point. 

_Yes,_ he thought, as the crystal hummed contentedly in its place and he slid the outer shell of the hilt over the lightsaber's inner workings. Everything snapped into place with a solid click--only for the completed weapon to slip through his sweaty hands and fall to the ground with a clatter. 

He sat back, blinking and covered in sweat, exhausted by such intense focus on a single item for so long. But it would work. He knew it would work. It _felt_ right. 

There was a knock on the door, shattering his peaceful solitude. Brakiss jerked in startlement, his heart racing, and reached for the Force to see who was disturbing him at such a late hour. 

He stiffened as he realized it was Skywalker outside, and reached to pick up his lightsaber off the floor. 

"Come in," he called, wiping the sweat from his face, unable to stifle a flare of annoyance at being disturbed. It was late in the evening and meditation and training were over for the day. What did Skywalker intend, coming to Brakiss's personal quarters? 

(In the privacy of his mind, Brakiss refused to call him master. No man was his master now--not even his Imperial handlers, whatever they might think. He'd show them. He'd show them all--) 

The door opened, and Skywalker stepped in, wrapped in the coarse brown robes he always wore. It was so foolish for a man as powerful as Skywalker to wear something so unattractive--the man had no fashion sense to speak of. If Brakiss left to his own devices, _his_ students would wear something sleeker and more attractive--silver, perhaps, or the vivid black of a night without stars--

"Hello, Brakiss," Skywalker said, pulling the hood of his robe down to reveal strikingly blond hair and hypnotic blue eyes that sucked you in if you weren't careful. He was surrounded by his usual aura of quiet earnestness and Brakiss took an involuntary step back, as if it were a cloud of poison gas. "How is your lightsaber coming along? The supply shuttle's coming in tomorrow, and there will be some new parts if you need it." 

"That won't be necessary." Brakiss held up his lightsaber to demonstrate and was rewarded with a slight quirk of Skywalker's lips. "I haven't turned it on yet," he admitted reluctantly. 

Skywalker smiled. "Are you going to?" 

"Yes, it's fine," Brakiss said, though he wished he'd had a chance to test it before Skywalker's ill-timed arrival. The Jedi's calm gaze made him nervous and clumsy, and he was already sweating far too much. 

It was always like this around Skywalker; his presence alone was unnerving. Brakiss always felt as if Skywalker could see past all the lies and masks and facades he projected, to the very core of his being. As if he knew all of Brakiss's secrets, the ones he struggled to keep hidden. As if Brakiss were always naked and exposed, vulnerable and weak. 

He didn't like Skywalker's attitude. Brakiss wasn't weak at all. He wasn't helpless. He was a valuable servant of the Imperial and a powerful Force-user. 

Well, let Skywalker be smug in his complacency. One of these days, Skywalker would realize he'd underestimated Brakiss the whole time. _Then_ he would regret his attitude. 

But for now, Brakiss played the part of an obedient student. He pressed a button, and a silver-white blade emerged from the hilt, buzzing and spitting with its characterisic hiss. He swung it back and forth a few times, unable to contain his elation at his success, before he extinguished the blade, and met Skywalker's gaze with a triumphant laugh. 

Skywalker smiled. "Well done, Brakiss. Well done." He put a hand on Brakiss shoulder, squeezed it tightly. "I'm proud of you." 

Brakiss blushed, and hated himself for it. Every fiber of his being thrilled at the Jedi's hand on his shoulder and his breath caught in his throat as his heartbeat went into overdrive. He hated himself for that, too. An involuntary reaction, to be sure, but his traitorous body ought to know better--

He quickly stepped away from Skywalker, breaking the contact. Hastily, he clipped the lightsaber to his belt, distracting himself by sweeping imaginary motes of dust off his robes. 

"But that's not why I came to see you tonight," Skywalker said. "I wanted to let you know to meet me outside the Temple before dawn tomorrow. We're going on a journey."

"What?" Brakiss swallowed, out of his depth. A journey? He hadn't expected anything like this--

"I have a test for you." 

"A test?" he repeated dully, stupidly, his tongue twisting in his mouth. 

"Yes." Skywalker's bright blue eyes pierced him, boring down into the depths, as if he could see all of Brakiss, even the parts he strove to hide. "I think you're ready." 

Brakiss swallowed and bowed, striving to keep his expression neutral instead of letting his terror show on his face. Once he wasn't looking directly at Skywalker, he let himself indulge in a flare of satisfacation. He had done it. Not only had he succeeded in constructing his lightsaber, but Skywalker deemed him ready for the next stage of his training. 

He would be privy to more Jedi secrets, more data for his next report. He would go stronger in the Force. His handlers would be pleased. 

He wasn't a Jedi - he would never be a Jedi - but he had successfully constructed his lightsaber at last. And Master Skywalker was proud of him. 

He wouldn't be so proud if he knew the truth, Brakiss reminded himself. Skywalker was powerful, yes, but he was generous and open-hearted, and he lacked caution. That was what had allowed Brakiss to remain here so long. 

Skywalker suspected nothing. There was nothing for Brakiss to fear, nothing to worry about. 

He raised his head, forced himself to meet Skywalker's gaze directly, burying his doubts and deceptions as deeply as he could. There was nothing here for Skywalker to find - no distress and no darkness. All was well. All was calm. 

"Thank you, Master." 

*** 

After Skywalker left, he wrote a quick report for his handlers and sent it off--a few brief lines about his new lightsaber and Skywalker's continued faith in him, of the decision to take his training to the next level. He didn't enjoy the writing, but it was a necessary part of his job, and it was with no small sense of relief that he pressed the send key on his datapad and finished the job. 

When he'd first arrived on Yavin IV, he'd made the mistake of making his reports too wordy - rambling on for pages about Skywalker's every move, every detail of his style and methodology, down to his appearance. His superiors had tolerated this with growing impatience, until Brakiss sent them a three-page critique of Skywalker's personal wardrobe, complete with footnotes and a bibliography. He'd been rewarded for his efforts with a response that made him cringe with embarassment for months afterwards. 

After that, he made a point of keeping his reports short and to the point. 

Brakiss wasn't sure who he hated more at this point, Skywalker or his Imperial handlers. Skywalker was Rebel scum, too soft-hearted for his own good, but there was a nobility to him that his handlers lacked. He was a loyal servant of the Empire, and a good one. He didn't deserve their scorn. 

The Empire had weakened considerably since Palpatine's death, and was a pale shadow of its former might and glory. He, Brakiss, would be one of the ones to bring it back. He would use Skywalker's own techniques against him. 

Then, well--then they would see. 

He didn't sleep well that night, his mind wracked with anxiety despite his attempts to calm himself. It was with no small sense of relief when his chronometer went off, and it was time to meet Skywalker outside the Great Temple. 

The two men set out into the rain forest in silence. Skywalker led the way with the easy, casual assaurance, as if their journey was of no particular importance. He wore the same brown robes of the evening before, the hood drawn over his face. 

The jungle was eerily quiet - the birds and mammals asleep, any predators holed up and silent as the two Jedi passed. Anything cold-blooded--lazy ret'iks, snakes the width of his fists, vicious colonies of piranha beetles--moved sluggishly or not at all in the relative) chill before dawn. Mist curved around them, delicate and damp, soaking into his clothes before they'd gone a hundred meters from the Temple. 

He liked the mist. It reminded him so much of home. He hadn't thought he'd ever be homesick for Msst, and yet something about the quiet chill made him feel sheltered, safe, despite the dangers. Mist obscured the landscapes, hid the damage. Hid _him_. He couldn't see anybody--but he didn't need his eyes to see; he had the Force. And nobody could see him. 

Unless they could use the Force, that is. 

They walked for a long time before they came to an edge of a clearing, an opening in the great vast forest. The press of the Force around them -- which had been growing steadily stronger throughout their journey - rose to a fevered pitch, stronger than anything he'd ever felt on Yavin, except in those temples that Exar Kun's spirit had corrupted. Yet this didn't feel like the Dark Side--the Force was powerful here, yes, but it lacked any human modality, any dense charge that would allow Brakiss to easily characterize it as light or dark. 

One thing for certain: this place of immense power was the location of Skywalker's test. It was not something he should take lightly. 

Skywalker halted at the edge of the clearing and gestured for Brakiss to go on ahead without him. 

"Are you coming?" Brakiss asked, then cursed himself for asking such an obvious question. 

If Skywalker thought him so easily frightened, he was polite enough to keep it to himself. "You must go alone," was all he said. "I will wait for you here. Come back when you are finished." 

_Finished with what?_ Brakiss thought, but he nodded, and stepped forward, one hand gripping the lightsaber at his belt. 

"You won't need that," Skywalker said softly. 

Brakiss shook his head and pushed past him, unwilling to meet the other man's gaze as he walked away into the dense undergrowth that sprung up wherever sunlight managed to reach the ground. Skywalker was a fool if he thought Brakiss would willingly disarm himself in this foul place--especially now, when he finally had a lightsaber of his own. 

If anything tried to hurt him here, they'd regret it. He'd make sure of that. 

***

Luke sighed and shook his head as Brakiss vanished into the mist. He always said that to every student he'd taken on this trial, and no one ever listened to him. The only exception was Cilghal, who had delicately offered her lightsaber to him before she turned away. Everyone else had plunged right in, heedless of his warning -- just as Luke himself had when he was in their shoes. 

The Force moved through every living thing, every rock and tree and stone and piece of space in the galaxy - but it moved more strongly in some places than in others. Like water, it pooled in certain areas and ran in flowing lines, like rivers of invisible energy across the landscape. 

His student Streen was mapping the lines of Force here on Yavin, the way he would locate deposits of tibanna gas on Bespin, but Luke had found this particular spot on his own. It was a place where the Force was especially strong, like a certain cave on Dagobah where Yoda had sent him. Here, those who were sensitive to such things would find themselves engulfed in waking visions, dreams that were more than dreams, gateways to the private workings of their psyche. 

There came a time in every student's training where they walked this inner landscape, came face to face with whatever demons lurked in their minds and hearts. Every step Brakiss took from hereon out in such a charged landscape brought him deeper and deeper into his own mind. It was an illusion, yes, yet no less real because of it.

If Brakiss was to become a Jedi, he had no choice but to face himself. 

Like all spies, Brakiss was a master of self-deception, full of walls and projections and psychological constructs dedicated to shielding himself from the ugliness of his life and the truths that could not be spoken aloud. Luke's job was to make him see that, so that he might turn away from the dark thoughts that had claimed him for so long, and turn towards the light. Being a Jedi was a greater calling in life than being an Imperial spy, if only he could see that. 

There was a place for Brakiss here in the community, if he chose to accept it. He was valued. He could let go of his misguided loyalty and embrace his new role as a Jedi Knight. He did not have to remain as he was. 

Working with Brakiss over the years, Luke had seen moments where the anger and hatred dropped away, his facade of careless indifference vanished, and a child-like wonder returned to Brakiss's face--only to be swept away as his defense mechanisms re-asserted themselves. Deep down inside, there was still a core of goodness inside him that his Imperial trainers hadn't managed to extinguish. 

He'd seen that core of goodness in Darth Vader, who had relinquished the dark side to become Anakin Skywalker before he died. He'd seen it in Mara Jade, ex-Emperor's Hand, even as she swore she'd murder him in cold blood because she thought the voices in her head were truly her own. He'd seen it in Kam Solustar, though all his conscious memories of his past had been locked away.

Leia was wrong. There was no one who was beyond redemption - only those who chose not to heed it. Brakiss was no different from Vader or Mara or Kam in that respect. He'd done great evil in his life, yet he was always free to change--if he wanted to. 

There was no knowing what Brakiss would experience here. That was private. Luke had no intention of spying on his student's innermost thoughts. But he would be there if Brakiss needed him. 

Luke couldn't force Brakiss to change. He could only show him the truth, and offer him a different path. A way out. 

He hoped Brakiss would take it. 

***

The clearing was larger than he thought. Once he was away from the edge, there were no obvious landmarks, only dense brush stretching out in every direction. Everything else was obscured by the mist. He used his lightsaber to cut a makeshift path forward, wondering why Skywalker had brought him _here_ of all places. He'd expected something grandiose, like of of Exar Kun's temples, or dark and ominous, like an underground cavern, not a patch of shrubs in the middle of nowhere. Yes, the Force was strong here, but if that was all there was to it, it was a poor sort of test indeed. What the hell did Skywalker think he was playing at--

Over the hum of his lightsaber, he heard footsteps. Something was coming through the undergrowth. Something big. 

Coming straight for him. 

He cut himself a wide circle of clearance with his lightsaber, sending leaves and brush in every direction, then settled himelf into a fighting stance. His heart raced, but he strove for calm, remembering what Master Skywalker had taught him. He wasn't especially good at sword-fighting, but he knew enough, and whatever it was, he could deal with it as long as the Force was with him--

A cloaked figure, wearing the same dull brown robes as Skywalker, its face obscured by its hood, stepped into view. 

Brakiss's mouth dropped open in surprise. How had Skywalker gotten ahead of him. He opened his mouth to speak when--

The figure drew back its hood to reveal Brakiss's own face underneath. 

Brakiss had no illusions about his appearance. He was an attractive man, and he knew it. Not that it mattered much - relationships made you weak and were only for fools - but it gave him a power of sorts over those who were less physically beautiful, and he reveled in it. Over the years, Brakiss had spent many hours staring into the mirror, taking comfort in his flawless skin and thin lips, and how his black and silver Imperial uniform matched his blue eyes and pale skin.

Looking at the being before him was like staring into the mirror now. They both wore the same robes, shared the same face. But the other-Brakiss wielded no lightsaber, nor did its expression of calm superiority match his own. 

_A clone?_ he thought in confusion, before shoving the idea away as the absurdity it was. _This must be an illusion. Skywalker is sending me an illusion. It has to be._

This was all Skywalker's doing, after all. This was a test. He must never forget that. 

"What do you want?" Brakiss said shakily, tightening his grip on his lightsaber. 

"There's nothing to hide from me, Brakiss. I know everything about you." When the apparition spoke, it was the smooth, confident tenor of Brakiss's own voice. "After all," he purred smoothly, striding closer, heedless of the silver-white lightsaber between them, "I _am_ you." 

"Get away from me," Brakiss insisted, unnerved by the figure's calm. "You're an illusion--a figment of Skywalker's imagination. You have nothing to do with me." 

"Do I?" the other-Brakiss purred. "You think Skywalker doesn't know you've been lying to him since the beginning? You think Skywalker doesn't know about all the information you've been sending to the Empire? You think Skywalker doesn't know how you feel about him?" 

Brakiss's mouth dropped open. The lightsaber slipped from his nerveless fingers and rolled away from him, useless. There was a roaring in his ears, and blackness swam across his vision. "That's not true," he insisted. "You're lying." 

"Skywalker knows," the vision crooned silkily, stalking towards him until he was almost in Brakiss's face. "He just hasn't bothered to stop you because you're nothing to him. Too weak, too small, too stupid. He's so far beyond you, there's nothing you can do to hurt him. He keeps you here out of pity." A smiled played on his perfect lips. "He thinks he can bring you back to the light to serve him, the way he did with the others." 

Brakiss knew he should struggle--fight--anything--but his limbs were paralyzed and he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, against the assault. This was a dream, this was a trap, Skywalker had trapped him here, it was all Skywalker's doing--yet he couldn't resist as the figure reached up to brush its fingers lightly against his cheek, run them across the side of his neck, sidle closer and embrace him. 

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Other-Brakiss whispered in his ear. "You and Skywalker. Like he'll ever look this way at someone as pathetic as you. Like you might ever be worthy of him." 

"Stop!" Brakiss shouted, trying to push away, but he couldn't. Other-Brakiss wrapped around him so tightly that all his struggles were in vain. He reached out with the Force--only to find it blocked, too. 

He'd never felt so trapped and helpless before. How was Skywalker doing this to him? This--wasn't--possible--

The shadow's breath was hot in his ear. "You hate yourself for it, don't you? You hate yourself, and your Imperial masters despise you, too, just as Skywalker despises you. They despise you for your weakness. They laugh about how pathetic you are behind your back. They know you're a traitor and a coward for your feelings towards Skywalker, that you are no longer a true believer of the righteous cause you were groomed to serve." 

Other-Brakiss laughed, and yanked Brakiss's hair with his hands, forcing his head back. Brakiss whimpered but couldn't escape as Other-Brakiss leaned forward kissed him, long and hard and slow, as Brakiss struggled beneath him. 

"Isn't that what you wanted from Skywalker?" Other-Brakiss hissed in satisfaction when he was finished. "Isn't that what you were hoping for all this time? That he'd notice you? That he'd think you were good enough--worthy enough--to merit some affection? To use you like the tool that you are before grinding you down into the dust?" 

"No," Brakiss whimpered. "No, no, no--"

"You're not a good person, Brakiss," the nightmare hissed at him. "Don't ever pretend that you are. I know what you've done. I've seen it. I've never fogotten it. Have you?" 

"No--" Brakiss started, but it was too late as the shadow's hand clamped down on his forehead and every memory he never wanted to think about again flooded back into his consciousness. 

Other-Brakiss was right. He'd done such terrible things, no matter how hard he tried to pretend they were justified at the time. He remembered them all. 

Prisoners screamed and fell in a hail of blaster fire. Slaves toiled in the crystal mines of Msst or collapsed where they stood, wracking by coughing fits from endless dust. Forests burned, sending gigantic plumes of smoke and ash into the air, choking him with the stench of charcoal. 

He'd set those fires. He'd done it all in the name of the Empire. 

He sneered at his mother on his visits home. She'd never understood him. She wasn't good enough. He was ashamed to be related to her. She deserved his scorn, just as the slaves in the crystal mines deserved it. 

It had all seemed like a good idea at the time. It didn't seem so good now. It was raw and ugly and painful and wrong. But underneath it all were even worse memories, the ones he _really_ didn't want to think about. 

He cowered in the corner as the Inquisitor reached for him. People he couldn't see were laughing at him and he was cold and wet and covered in his own feces. He wasn't good enough. He wasn't good enough. 

Over and over again: pain. Isolation. Loneliness. Endless hours toiling away, all for no cause. No purpose. Tests to pass, hoops to jump through. Barren corridors and terrible food, while others around him feasted. Never being good enough to deserve more. Never being good enough. 

His mother had given him up, abandoned him, surrendered him to the Inquisitors on account of her weakness. It was her fault. All of this was her fault. If she hadn't been so helpless--so weak--none of this would have ever happened. 

He couldn't run. He couldn't move. There was no way out. Other-Brakiss was holding him down, forcing him to watch, forcing him to revisit the worst moments of his life-- 

There was no good in him. He was a failure. He would always be that damaged child, always weak, always fighting to escape

A failure for the Empire. 

A failure as a Jedi. 

_Liar. Liar. Liar--_

"But you're not like that, Brakiss," the Other-Brakiss whispered. "You don't have to be. Let me show you what you _really_ are--" 

He stood the Great Temple, arms linked with Streen and Kirana Ti, as he and the other Jedi trainees beat back the ghost of Exar Kun, their minds linked with the Force as they fought back against the Sith Lord as one being, larger than any of them could be alone. He saw Master Skywalker smiling proudly at him as he levitated his first rock, patting him affectionately on the shoulder as he praised Brakiss's skills. It was one of the best moments of his life. 

He couldn't watch. He couldn't bear to look, couldn't bear the weight of who he was and what he'd done. He didn't deserve what Skywalker offered him. Love, acceptance, contact--

\--and all the while, his traitorous body was yearning for Skywalker's touch, desperate for more, for hands on his neck and back and mouth on his--

It was too late for him to change--

Brakiss screamed. He screamed and screamed and didn't stop until everything went black and he passed out into merciful darkness. 

***

"Brakiss? Brakiss?" 

He was lying on his back at the edge of the clearing, his lightsaber clipped to his belt, though he had no memory of retrieving it. Skywalker knelt beside him, his hood pushed back, concern in his bright-blue eyes. "Are you all right?" 

Brakiss twitched, shuddered as Skywalker offered a hand to help him up. Before the Jedi master could react, he wrenched himself off the ground and ran, screaming, back towards the Temple. 

"Brakiss!" Skywalker called after him. "Wait! _Brakiss_!" 

But he only ran faster. Whatever Skywalker had done to him as part of his 'test', Brakiss wanted no part in it. He was done with this training. Finished. 

\-- _broken_. 

Maybe forever. 

***

Luke didn't bother rushing back to the Temple. Whatever Brakiss had experienced in the clearing had deeply frightened him, that much was clear. There was no point in reaching out to him until he'd had a chance to calm down. He would be patient, and wait, and no doubt Brakiss would talk to him when he was ready. 

On his return, he discovered that while Brakiss had safely returned, he had bolted himself in his quarters and refused to come out. Food left outside his door remained untouched, except by myrmins and stray rodents. 

Luke sighed, and left Brakiss alone. He'd deal with it tomorrow, he decided, once Brakiss was more settled. 

It was only when a very irate shuttle pilot confronted him the next morning at breakfast, demanding to know what had happened to his ship, that Luke realized how badly he'd miscalculated. 

He'd been so _close_ to a breakthrough with Brakiss. So very close. He'd let his eagerness and his optimism blind him to reality and push his student beyond what he could safely bear. 

He decided to hold off on telling Leia about it, at least for the moment. The last thing he wanted to hear right now was 'I told you so'. He did, however, reach out to Ghent to see if the slicer could track Brakiss's movements and determine where he'd gone. 

Luke was disappointed--but not surprised-- to learn a few days later that Brakiss had fled directly to the Imperial base on Msst. Back to the very beings who had ordered him to the Academy in the first place. 

There was nothing to be done, he thought with a sigh, as the words floated on the datapad in front of him. He couldn't force Brakiss to continue his training. He'd pushed too far, too fast, and something had snapped under the pressure. There was nothing that he could do to improve the situation except wait for Brakiss to return of his own free will--and hope he wouldn't regress to evil instead. 

Luke Skywalker was no stranger to failure, having suffered much in the course of his strange and varied life. But it never got any easier with practice. 

"There is still good in you, Brakiss," he whispered. "I know it's there. I've seen it. I believe in you. It's never too late to change if you truly want to.

"I will wait."


End file.
